Codependent Liza Tries to Find a Sense of Completion
by CodependentLiza
Summary: In a burst of computer access and energy, I (Codependent Liza) am posting that which is postable from my writing backlog, with updates to several stories hopefully to come later. Meanwhile, here is yet another version of desperate high-school Bella being saved from herself by uber-competent and affectionate high-school Edward (as fictional as any vampire). ExB, AllHuman


Is this my last fanfiction? Could it be my best, or at least my most complete? I wish I wish I could make it so. We shall see.

And there is nothing. What is the magic that gets words slapped on to the movies in my mind?

Just start somewhere. Bella tries to kill herself. Ends up in ER; being treated for overdose of her own antidepressants by Dr. Cullen. Wasn't enough to hurt her, especially after they put liquid charcoal down her nose (she refuses to drink it). Dr. Cullen knows Bella; has seen her in the clinic, has heard his children tease Edward about her; has watched her volunteer in the Port Angeles Crisis Nursery he also volunteers his medical services at on the weekends once a month and the nursery of the church they're all members of. More than that, he _likes_ her.

So he butts in. With a frustrated, grief-stricken but still mostly silent Charlie in the hallway off the ER bed where Bella is currently waiting for disposition. Normally, Carlisle would recommend a transfer to the PA hospital's psych ward, assuming a bed is open—which often is not the case. Next option would be an overnight hospital stay with social work consulting in the morning and a nurse called in to do one-on-one supervision for the night.

But what he finds himself offering is markedly less professional. After leaning against the wall next to Charlie's defeated pose, Carlisle sighs and says, "Chief, do you want me to take her home with me? Esme is really good with difficult teenagers. Look at what she's done with the rest of our crew."

Charlie looks up, startled. This wasn't what he was expecting. He knows the drill; his department often provides the transportation to Port Angeles—arrangements he was something worse than dreading making for his own daughter.

Frowning in his surprise and speechless in his newfound hope that there may be some way around what he's afraid is going to happen to his daughter, Charlie's reaction is misinterpreted by Carlisle.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line. I don't mean to imply—"

Charlie interrupts. "No, not out of line. Just…a surprise. And very kind. Do you really think-?"

Carlisle is relieved not to have caused offense, and is torn between a growing sense of excitement at being able to do something substantial for once for one of the many people in misery he deals with day in and day out, and in particular something for Isabella, whom he is fond of. But the torn-between is paired with worry that he has suggested something he won't be able to follow through on because of opposition from Esme or his kids or just, well, common sense and professional prudence.

Finding a middle ground, he says, "I think it's a possibility. I'd have to consult with Esme, of course. It could be that Isabella's particular…difficulties are more than she thinks she could handle. We've never had an actively-suicidal teen before—just boys acting as if they were, and that, as you know, is a different matter entirely. More grounding, less hand-holding."

"I don't know; I sure feel like grounding Isabella right now until she's 47. What was she thinking?"

"My guess is she wasn't, Charlie—just feeling. The question is feeling what, and why, and how can we help her change her reaction next time it crops up. Do I take it you're interested in the possibility of her staying with my family for a while, then?"

"Very interested, Dr. C. She's obviously too much for me to handle. I was dreading…well; I wasn't much looking forward to what I thought you'd be telling me about now."

Carlisle laughs briefly in a welcome moment of dark humor shared between two world-weary people on the front lines of battling human failings, and says, "You mean, shipping her off to that snake pit in PA, should they deign to have a bed tonight?"

Charlie's shoulders sag at the relief that Carlisle seems to see that outcome as unlikely, because yes, that was exactly what he was dreading and he says so. "Pretty much. I didn't see how I could do it, but then I couldn't see an option either. I can't take time off work; I used up all my sick leave with that—"

But Carlisle interrupted his explanation, not needing it having been the surgeon who took care of Charlie's hernia and caught the arterial blockage that required a stent (he referred Charlie to Seattle and their more advanced equipment for that procedure) in the pre-surgery work-up as well. "And of course we can't leave her unsupervised, for a while anyway. I'm presuming that Isabella's mother doesn't factor in to the solution?"

Carlisle's actually not presuming a thing but just being tactful; he's read Isabella Swan's medical history from Arizona and knows it's a picture of a gradually-decompensating girl slowly but surely falling apart in the context of a home life that could not have been a good fit for her. He just needs to cover his bases before calling his own home. He's pretty certain of Esme's reaction to his idea, and he doesn't want to get her hopes up for another case of innocent suffering to solve if he's not going to be able to deliver.

Sure enough, Charlie shakes his head before Carlisle even stops speaking. "No, Carlisle," [Carlisle often encourages Charlie to use his first name, but Charlie rarely does it], "I'm not going to send her to Renee, even if Renee would take her back, which is unlikely at best. I don't trust that new husband of hers. Bella doesn't seem comfortable around him, and, well, you know…" and he trailed off, Carlisle nodding, as indeed they both knew all too well the sorts of things that can happen between step-fathers and vulnerable girls.

Standing up away from the wall, Carlisle says, "Well, if it's alright with you then, I'll go give Esme a call. Will you be—" but he's interrupted in asking Charlie where he'll be waiting, assuming it will be near Isabella's ER bed but wanting to make sure, by a unit nurse approaching saying, "Dr. Cullen; your son is here to see you."

Carlisle is surprised by this; it's rare for his family to show up at his workplace without prior arrangement. "Which son?" he asks immediately.

"Edward," is the prompt answer.

"Is something wrong?" Carlisle can't help but ask, though he knows Edward would never tell anyone but Carlisle himself if something was wrong, or maybe, depending on what it was, his twin sister Alice.

The nurse responds in a conspiratorial voice, not having registered the Police Chief standing nearby yet, "Well, he was very determined to see Isabella Swan. I guess the front desk let him through because he knew she was here and because, well, he's your son…" she trails off, noticing the Chief. Trying to cover for having been gossiping about his daughter, she says more officiously, "Isabella's vital signs are good, Chief Swan, and the charcoal's starting to work through her system."

Carlisle rescues her, saying, "Thank you, Maureen; I'll come check on Isabella now and see what Edward needs. Chief, are you coming with me?"

"Right behind you," Charlie responds, and he is.

XxXxXx

Isabella had been absolutely lost in the misery and humiliation of her situation when, just a couple minutes earlier, she had looked up at the doorway curtain rustling and seen…Edward Cullen, standing just inside the doorway, staring at her.

She was used to being stared at for the moment; she was in a glass-fronted room in the ER Dept. right in front of the nurses' station, and knew she was under observation given what she'd done to end up in there that night. She hadn't really meant to take quite so many pills; it had just sort of happened.

And then she had stupidly panicked, and called Charlie, and now here she was.

With Edward Cullen.

She realized her jaw had dropped open in surprise and she blushed, fast and hard, tears pooling in her eyes as she looked quickly away. _He looks angry_ , she thought to herself in despair as she started studying the tile floor.

He sounded angry too when, a moment later, he said, "Isabella. Look at me."

She looked up in automatic response to that, noticing as she did so that he had moved closer. He was at the foot of the bed now.

"Good girl," he said quietly, and she broke, sobbing her heart out at her own failings and the shame of having those failings witnessed by none other than Edward Cullen, the center of every rescue fantasy she had allowed herself since running away to Forks.

And then, her fantasies—every single last one of them—were instantly eclipsed by a shocking new reality: Edward Cullen was lowering the side rail of her bed; Edward Cullen was lowering himself to sit next to her on that same bed; Edward Cullen was leaning over and sliding his hands underneath her and gathering her heaving chest into his own as he held her, supporting her head with the crook of his arm like she was a baby, and saying so tenderly, "Shhhhhh, it's okay, Isabella; It's okay, little girl. I'm here now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

It may have been the comfort of his words, or it may have been the surprise of them, but either way or because of both Bella stopped crying and calmed in his arms. When she was breathing quietly and lying peacefully in his hold, Edward raised up a little, straightening his arms but not letting go of her, and smiled down at her tear-streaked face. "See, it's better already, isn't it, sweetheart?"

Bella blushed anew, but nodded, carefully keeping her eyes closed so as not to overwhelm herself with…that person's close proximity, or catapult herself headlong into shame at his witness to her failure as a person once again. That would come soon enough, she thought bitterly.

Edward felt the resignation in her body at that thought in the caving of her shoulders as well as the simultaneous bracing of herself against him in the straightening of her back as if she were trying to levitate off of him. "What's wrong?" he asks simply.

The ignorance of his question astounds her. Her eyes snap open and she meets his gaze with fire as she says, almost shouts, " _I'm_ wrong!"

Edward half-smiles at this, not because he finds it remotely funny, but because he's pleased at getting to the heart of her misery so quickly. He knew he would be good at managing her more purposefully and consistently than he's allowed himself before, but he didn't realize how good—nor how much he would like doing it. "No you're not," he responds matter-of-factly, following up with, "You're exactly right."

She's outraged at this, as he guessed she would be, sitting up so quickly she almost hits his head with her own. He leans back just enough to avoid the collision, then watches indulgently as Bella seethes at him, shouting for real this time, "I've never been right in my entire life!"

The noise of her own loud voice surprises her as it reverberates in the room, and she flinches, then shrinks back down and away from Edward, who lets her, lying down on the bed again and turning her head away from him to study the controls on the opposite side of the bed.

He smiles at this like a proud father watching a new baby sleep, and just like said father reaches a hand out to stroke tenderly across her forehead and down her cheek, saying, calmly and warmly and _lovingly_ , "Then it's time we changed that, isn't it, sweetheart."

Bella doesn't respond to this, not believing it possible, but simply starts to quietly cry again.

It is at this moment that Carlisle enters the room, Charlie on his heels.

XxXxXx

Carlisle's reaction to finding Edward in such an intimate position comforting Isabella is a mixture of pride, hope, and jealousy, with a little bit of nebulous fear for lurking threats and invisible pitfalls sure to be near. He recognizes and is spiritually mature enough to shrug off the jealousy—of his son's youth and subsequent power to heal through mere attention and regard. Carlisle used to have this power, and still does with women of a certain age, but he knew he could never again be to an Isabella the sort of all-powerful, never-wrong hero he suspects his son will get to be, and that he remembers being for his beautiful wife when she was in even worse condition than the desperate girl stretched out in front of him.

Ditching the jealousy with memories of his own satisfaction in rescuing and bringing back to life—physically and emotionally—his Esme leaves his countenance clear with happiness as he greets his son, and just a tinge of worried concern in his eyes as he asks, "What brings you here tonight, Edward? Shall we leave Isabella with her father and step out into the hall?"

"No need, Dad," is Edward's easy reply. "I'm here for her, and she knows it, though she doesn't believe it yet." Then, seeing Charlie behind Carlisle, Edward becomes more serious and rises off the bed, patting Bella's shoulder as he moves away for the moment and whispering, "Be right back," down towards her as he goes.

Then, stepping to the side of his own father, who is watching him intently, he addresses himself to The Girl He Loves' father, saying, "Chief Swan, sir, I'd like to ask your permission to care for your daughter."

Charlie swallows hard. "Well, Edward, your father already asked for something like that."

Edward's head pivots quickly to look at his dad; he hadn't expected this from Carlisle. But sure enough, Carlisle answers Edward's questioning gaze with a smile and nod of his head.

Looking back to Charlie, Edward shrugs and says, "Dad beat me to it, then, I guess—but I think I need to ask for myself too, because whatever Dad does to help, I would like to be the one…" Edward trails off and looks back over his shoulder at the quietly-crying Bella, only half-hearing what they're saying through the haze of her miserable fear and shame, assuming they're discussing how to get her to the psych ward at Port Angeles, or something equally awful.

Seeing her lying there, so vulnerable and so hurting, helps Edward find the words he needs, so he turns back around with an easy grin on his face and finishes, "holding her hand while he does it. And, you know, driving her places; tucking her in at night; making her eat her vegetables; whatever." Edward's face starts to burn as he lists the specifics; he knows he's right on, it's just hard to admit to it—but he's forcing himself to, because Isabella can't afford misunderstandings in what she needs.

So Edward finishes bravely, and stares Charlie in the eyes, daring Charlie to challenge him on his plans for lack of appropriateness.

He's disappointed in his dare, for Charlie lets out a huge sigh of relief and claps Edward on the shoulder instead, saying as he does so, "Chip off the old block, aren't you Edward?" Then, more quietly, "But are you sure she won't be too much trouble? I can't imagine a good-looking, college-bound athlete like yourself has much free time for babysitting…" Charlie doesn't know how to refer to his daughter, so he just trails off without words.

That's alright, because Edward's immediately jumping on Charlie's question, and more importantly Charlie's serious misunderstanding of his intended relationship to Isabella. "No, Chief Swan, you don't understand. I'm not going to babysit Isabella; I'm going to take care of her. Not because I…feel sorry for her or something, but because I…because I…because I love her." He finishes finally, surprising everyone including himself with the sentiment, though as he says the words he realizes how true they are.

Charlie is quite taken aback; of all the surprises that night, this one is the most shocking. Blushing just a little again, he clears his throat and manages, "Oh," and nothing more for a few moments.

Meanwhile, Carlisle moves in, resting a hand on Edward's shoulder and saying, "You should know, Edward, I've already offered to Chief Swan to ask Esme and the others for permission to bring Isabella home as part of the family for a while. You don't have to make it quite so personal—"

Edward turns to his dad, interrupting him, "But it _is_ personal, Carlisle! It's very personal. Especially now that I've realized how long I've left her alone, afraid to mess with her because I didn't think it was fair to ask anything from her given, you know, how hard it would be for her to say 'No' to me about anything, and how I figured she couldn't really have any idea whether she felt anything for me like I felt for her. Now I understand how stupid I've been, and how selfish, waiting until it's convenient and less trouble to let her know what she means to me, and what I think of her, and I'm just so—" Edward breaks off here, a catch in his throat as he thinks about how unspeakably awful this evening could have been if Bella had put more logic or sense or just a little more effort into trying to kill herself…she could have succeeded, and with a cold shudder of his heart, Edward sees the edges of the nightmare that would have landed him in; the empty, endless night as he searched for someone else as kind and sweet and _good_ as her and then, even if he found such an impossible-seeming being, knowing he could never possibly deserve to love such a person having failed the one who needed him most so recklessly; so stupidly.

Taking a deep breath and gratefully leaving the nightmare behind with an unshakable determination to keep it from ever coming true, Edward turns back to Charlie and finishes his sentence, "I'm just so sorry, Chief Swan—so sorry for not asking you this sooner. I want the honor of caring for your daughter, and some day, when she's feeling better and is a little older and maybe understands a little bit better her own worth, I'll want the honor of marrying her. But not now," he hastens to add; "I know she's not ready for anything like that kind of relationship. I just want to take care of her right now; give her time to heal and grow strong and decide if she wants that with me too. Or not, which would be okay—"

Edward's starting to ramble, and afraid he's given away too much and made it unlikely for Isabella's father to let him near her. Charlie—who is, Edward will be shocked to discover, a romantic at heart—steps closer and sets his own hand on Edward's shoulder much as Carlisle had, looking him in the eyes and cutting him off by saying, "I trust you, son. I trust you. I can tell you want the best for her, and that's more than I could ever have hoped for coming here tonight. If you think you can handle her—and I have to warn you, she is a handful—then I would be really grateful if you tried."

Removing his hand and taking a half-step back, Charlie looks towards Bella, still in a daze on the bed, tears flowing and her mind uncomprehending anything being said—though she'll dream of it later. "You sure can't do worse than I have," he finishes grimly.

"Teenage girls are notoriously difficult, Chief; don't be too hard on yourself," Carlisle says cheerfully. "You should hear some of what we went through with Rosalie; it would give you nightmares." Then he moves to finish up, as his presence is needed elsewhere in the hospital before he can escape to home, and he still hasn't talked to his wife about the enormous new project he's signed them up for, with Edward's help. "Shall we step outside and work on the paperwork while Edward stays here with Bella?"

Charlie nods, says gruffly, "Good idea," and with one last pained but loving glance at the child he has no idea how to comfort, leaves the room to sign her away to someone else's care for a while. He's a little ashamed at how relieved he feels at the prospect—but only a little.

XxXxXx

Edward feels nearly giddy at the easy acceptance—from both men—of what he had thought was going to be a hard-fought-for plan. Turning back to Bella, a now-heaving lump of shame and desperation under the thin hospital bedcovers, he grins. In two long strides he's back to the bed and in a pole-vault worthy move he is alongside her again, stretched out on his side and encircling her with two arms.

As he pulls her backwards into him and her head free of the covers she's been hiding under, her sobs become audible, and the grin leaves his face though his eyes don't lose their happy crinkle and brightness. "Shhhhhhhhhh, Bella baby, I've got you; I've got you," he says, and she listens—especially after one of his hands spreads out against her belly and gently circles. Her whole body straightens and goes taut as she tries to make sense of Edward's presence against her; around her.

"Edward?" she disbelievingly asks. "Is that…you?"

Edward laughs so lightly, and rolls her body with his hands so she's on her back looking up at him. Grinning again, he says, "Hey there, baby girl. It's me."

Bella's embarrassed, and turns to hide her face again, but in a sign of trust that Edward cherishes for the rest of his life, and does his best to live up to, she turns _towards_ him, burying her face in his shoulder and crying again.

"That's my girl," Edward says joyfully as he pulls her tightly against him and tucks his chin on top of her head. "That's my girl."

In the safety of his strong arms, felt like reassuring metal bands across the top and bottom of her back, Bella soon quiets. By the time Carlisle re-enters, having made the necessary dents in his paperwork to leave for the night as well as having a copy of the signed temporary transfer of custody from Charlie to himself (and Esme in absentia) safely tucked in his pocket with the original filed neatly in his briefcase, and—most importantly—having had a very satisfying phone conversation with an elated Esme, Bella is deeply asleep.

Edward raises his head at the sound of the opening door, craning over his shoulder to see who is entering. When he spies his father in the low light coming in from the observation window and the doorway itself, he smiles and whispers, "Hi, Dad. She's asleep. What's the plan?"

Carlisle smiles back, relieved to see the evidence that his son is as committed to little Isabella Swan as he had claimed to be, and that she seemed to accept Edward's claim on her. He pulls a chair around to the bedside behind Isabella so he can talk directly to Edward, whose head is back down and around Bella's after having placed a kiss there first.

"Well, son, your mother was as enthusiastic as you are about bringing Bella home with us tonight. Although looking at her asleep there, I'm wondering if maybe we should leave her be and bring her home in the morning?"

Edward starts to shake his head even before his Dad is through. "No, Dad. She'll fall asleep again easily, and she needs to wake up tomorrow morning in my bed; in my room. She needs to _see_ that she belongs to me now, and she's not going to believe that in a hospital room."

"She belongs to _us_ now, son," Carlisle gently corrects, and Edward lets him though he doesn't agree and kisses the brown head under him again to prove his point—to himself if no one else.

"And I asked Esme to get the guest room ready—"

But here Edward starts the fight he's been expecting. "No way, Dad. There is no way that is safe for her, and you know it."

Carlisle does know this, from a medical perspective, but he tries anyway to convince both of them that it's an option. "I asked your mother to be very careful about removing anything with sharp edges—"

Edward snorts. "And is she going to sleep without sheets? What about the windows? Taking those out too?"

Carlisle sighs. He had forgotten about the windows.

Edward presses on, sensing his opportunity. "If we're going to take her home with us, and we all want to, we have to do it right. You know she's going to be looking for every opportunity to test us; to find out the limits of our caring for her, and our ability to keep her safe. And that means she can't ever be left alone, not for one second."

"You may be right, son, but you have no idea—"

"I have every idea! I've been thinking this through since I read her responses on the Youth Risk Behavior Survey a month ago!"

"That is supposed to be anonymous. How did you-?"

"I collected the exams and bent a corner of hers back, then manufactured a reason to go back to the room during passing time. It didn't take long; I knew which item numbers to check, and she had marked "Sometimes" to all of the self-harm items and "Extremely often" to the questions about suicidal ideation and wishing she were dead."

When he says the last word, his voice breaks at the memory of how uncomfortably close she had come to making ideas of death a reality that very night, and he pulls her more tightly against him and kisses her again.

Then lifting his head to stare his father down, he finishes, "So I'm sure you can see why nothing short of having her with me at all times is acceptable to me. Or sensible treatment for her."

Carlisle wants to know how far Edward has thought things through. "What happens when you need to use the bathroom?"

"I page Jasper or Emmett to come sit with her while I do. I picked up a couple sets of two-way radios last week at Newtons'."

"What about me?" Carlisle asks, not bothering to object to excluding the women. He agrees with Edward that the men of his family are far more likely to keep Bella safe at first, for both psychological and practical, physical reasons.

"Nah, you need to be the doting grandfather; someone who can spoil her and make her feel good about herself without humiliating her like the rest of us are going to have to do."

"That's a strong word, son."

"What—grandfather?" Edward says, teasing.

"No, 'humiliate,'" Carlisle responds rather sternly. He is not amused by the "grandfather" comment either.

"Well, that's what she needs, and you know it."

"She needs to be safe, but I'm not sure she needs humiliation," Carlisle responds, testing some more.

"If we keep her safe, that's how she's going to take it, at least at first. It won't last long; when she sees that we're not embarrassed for her, that we're reliable in how we take care of her, then it won't bother her anymore. Actually, she's going to be eating out of our hands—literally."

"You're very confident about all of that. Mind telling me what exactly you think she'll find so humiliating at first?"

"The bathroom. Showering. Getting dressed. Getting undressed. Not being allowed to use the bathroom after eating. Not being allowed out of physical contact with one of us. Pretty much her entire existence for the next few months. Or years."

Carlisle is speechless for a few moments as he processes how prepared his younger son is for taking on the suicidal girl in front of him. "You've done your research, Edward," he says, pride and surprise both showing.

Then Carlisle laughs. "Why am I surprised? You're my son: you _always_ do your research. Remember when you insisted we drive you to the Port Angeles Little League team practices because their injury rates were so much lower?"

Edward laughs too. "Yeah, and that was a good lesson in research skills because you pointed out that their participation rates were a whole lot lower too."

"Had to do something to save myself the two hours of driving three times a week."

"You're forgetting the games," Edward adds, smiling.

"Right. So what do you suppose we're forgetting here?" Carlisle asks, genuinely curious and wanting to strategize with his son even more now that he sees how fruitful it will be.

Edward thinks that over for a minute, running one hand gently down Bella's hair as he does so. "Well, Charlie is a wild card. If she goes to him about how we're treating her, that could be a problem."

Carlisle thinks for a moment, then responds, "I don't think so, son. Charlie and I talked a little bit about what would have to happen at our house to keep her safe, and though he's not interested in hearing the details, I don't think they would come as a surprise for him. I do have another question for you, though. You're not planning on starting a… _physical_ relationship with Bella, are you?"

"Not until we're married Dad; I promise."

" _Married?"_

Edward grins. "Yep. We're third in line. You know Rosalie and Emmett are getting married this June—" Edward watches as Carlisle grimaces, then picks up, "And Alice wants June of next year. So she's slated me and Bella for July. Of next year."

Carlisle feels a little faint, and doesn't know what to say. Finally he manages, "Is that right?"

Edward smiles some more; says "Uh-huh. Alice says it's going to be butterfly -themed, whatever that means. The wedding, that is."

"And what does Bella think of all this?" Carlisle asks.

Edward looks affectionately back down on Bella's brown head and answers, "She's going to love it. Alice is certain, and so am I."

Carlisle smiles back, feeling better. "It never pays to bet against Alice."

Without looking up, Edward agrees. "No, it never does."

XxXxXx

Extra Story Start, with Possibly Best Working Title Ever: "It Was Hot"

It was hot. The sun beat down on the South Dakota cornfields mercilessly, and for those wise enough to know neither their skin nor their eyes would thank them for stretching out in it, shade was a precious commodity.

But most of the visitors to the Wild West Aquatic Fun Center did _not_ know that, so the water park had not found it necessary to provide more than a half-dozen or so chaise lounges with shade umbrellas. One of these precious spots was vacated at the precise moment Isabella Swan, 19-year-old daycare aide from nearby Sioux Falls, was approaching from the left and Edward Cullen, 25-year-old businessman and multi-millionaire Masen family heir from Seattle on a spontaneous stop during a cross-country road trip with his family, was approaching from the right.

Somehow, in that magical moment, neither person saw the other until they both sat down on the lounge chair from opposite sides at precisely the same moment, Edward near the top and Bella at the bottom. Turning towards each other as they sat, they both leaped back up the moment they made contact with the seat, Bella blushing and springing slightly away from the chair, Edward just straightening himself up in surprise.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Bella got out in a whispered hush before turning to make a quick and embarrassed get-away.

"Wait!" Edward surprised himself by saying to the slight girl clearly about to fly away from him.

The girl turned at his command, looking over her shoulder, her eyebrows arched in surprise, her cheeks still red from what he hoped was a blush and not too much sun already. "Please, we can share," he said, waving his hand towards the bottom of the chair where she had been sitting.

He cringed inwardly at his own suggestion, wondering where it had come from. Share a chaise lounge with a stranger? The chairs weren't that big, and weren't meant for more than one body. The girl had vacated without a fight, leaving it all to him. What was he thinking, making things more complicated like this?

Then he saw her big, brown doe-eyes, and the shy shrug of her shoulders as her head lowered, and the self-protective way she curved in on herself at the same time that she turned back to almost orient herself towards him and his attention to her. He read her vulnerability and loneliness like they were both printed in capital letters across her, and her innocent beauty was the page they were written on. Edward was enthralled, and he knew it.

So he was mostly pleased, and only slightly irritated with himself and with her, when, still blushing, she stammered out, "O-Okay," and stopped fleeing the area.

What she did not do, however, was sit back down.

Edward did. He plopped down straddling the lounge chair near the top, where the back support leaned away, and started opening the leather portfolio he had brought in to compare some numbers to new information awaiting him in his email that he started checking on his smart phone.

He didn't get beyond logging in to the program, however, when he realized the girl was still standing off to the side, and making no movement to sit down.

Looking up, he asked her, "Is something wrong?"

She was still looking at him—staring, really, and he smiled at her unintentional rudeness as she slowly shook her head back and forth.

He realized he hadn't yet heard her voice beyond a couple whispers, and he decided to fix that. "What's your name?" he asked.

There was a pause as she presumably processed what he'd said and decided whether to answer, then he heard, so soft he barely made it out, "Bella. I'm Bella."

"Hello, Bella. I'm Edward Cullen. And I promise I don't bite. Here, sit down." And he reached up with one hand for one of hers as he motioned with the other to the bottom of the chair.

Finding one of her small hands, he grabbed hold and pulled downward, tugging her into a sitting position sideways on the chair.

When she had collapsed downward, he didn't let go of her hand right away, but rested them—his and hers—together on the lounge in front of him. A moment later he realized his thumb was moving back and forth along her knuckles and the backs of her fingers.

Shocked at his own forwardness, and at her motionless acceptance of his actions, the only sign she even noticed a deeper shade of red on her cheeks, Edward dropped her hand as quickly as he had grabbed it.

He then went back to his phone, trying to ignore the girl at the bottom of the lounge chair, or at least _look_ like he is ignoring her. This doesn't last long, as he feels her eyes on him so soon finds himself lifting his own eyes to make eye contact. Only, he doesn't make eye contact, because she is staring…at his crotch?

 _What the Hell?_ he thinks to himself as he briefly checks himself over, making sure no untoward holes have developed in his board shorts.

Nope, fully covered, though a quick glance back up reveals _she—_ Bella—is still staring at a region significantly south of his face.

He can't help it; he has to ask. "Are you checking me out?" he says, sounding as incredulous as he feels.

Edward's quick eyes catch the whole body jump and quiver at the sound of his voice, then the flaming red of what is clearly now blush not sunburn as his words register.

A half-second later and the girl has flown up from the chair, gathered up the bag and towel she had let come to rest around her, and is looking wildly around for a direction to escape to—or so Edward sagely guesses.

Deciding that even if she is a lecher, she is the cutest, most innocent-child-like lecher he's ever encountered and he doesn't feel like letting her go in an embarrassed tizzy (he uses the inner term "freak-out"), he stands up too—leaving the portfolio on the chair and slipping the phone in his pocket—and reaches out to her once more saying, "Hey now, it's okay; it's nothing to be upset about."

The words flow from him as the tears flow from her, and even though an inner voice is screaming at her just to run—anywhere—Bella is frozen once more under the gaze of Edward Cullen. She can't look at him now though. She doesn't fully understand what he accused her of, but she knows it was something bad, and she's plenty embarrassed about what she really was looking at and thinking—which was his lap, and how much she wanted to be in it. She doesn't understand why she can't just leave this humiliating situation, but there's something about this man that is like water to a desert wanderer for her, and as long as he's willing to tolerate her being near she knows she is trapped there like an ancient insect in amber.

Edward's starting to understand her amber-like quality too, as he sees that she is shaking with emotion, and from the tears and the fearful expression on her face, _negative_ emotion, but also that her feet stay in place… though her head bends further and further away from him as he approaches her.

Quickly, he's in arm's reach of her again, and he takes advantage of this by resting one hand very lightly on Bella's right forearm. "Hey," Edward says softly, "I didn't mean to scare you. Won't you sit back down?"

At the kind gentleness of his words, Bella feels simultaneously like she's going to die and has just started living. Her head lifts to his, and with wide open eyes she lets the shock, hope and fear all show themselves to this surprising man, saying nothing.

The man in question recognizes all three feelings, and begins to understand how unusual this situation is, for both of them. For Edward is aware that every time this girl shows fear, his own feelings of protectiveness ratchet higher, exceeding his normal polite but distant chivalry by leaps and bounds until he cannot recognize himself and isn't sure if that is a good thing or not. He would tend to think not, as he has had no complaints with his life up to this point, but somewhere deep inside he is realizing that is only because he's been ignorant of what he's been missing.

So when the tears start rolling down her cheeks and her shoulders start shaking, Edward hesitates not at all before laughing lightly and pulling her into him for a tentative hug. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, his hands loosely at her hips and his head leaning down next to hers so that he is able to speak quietly and hear her whispers in return.

But so far all he can hear is her panicked breathing, so he adds, "Please let me help," surprising himself again at how genuine the plea is.

Bella, however, can't speak a word, for she's focusing all her will and attention on the battle not to lay her head on this man's—this Edward Cullen's—chest. But it's _right there_ , and he is holding her next to it like an engraved invitation, so her head keeps dipping down towards it than being pulled back up by her outraged sense of self-preservation and what might pass for dignity. Almost.

With every pass, her head gets a little closer, and after the third interception, Edward—who's been studying her closely, waiting for an answer though not surprised he isn't getting one—is catching on. Tempted himself to pull her in to him more definitely, his own self-protectiveness intercedes and asks a question he's been wondering about since finding a girl on his chair five minutes prior.

"Bella, how old are you?" he asks softly, gently.

He smiles as her face flames again, and she studies the slats of the chair they had vacated, or the nearby cement, anything other than look him in the eyes.

She's not answering, so he tries a guess. "Fifteen?" he asks, hoping it's low at the same time he's wondering if it isn't a little high.

She lifts her head at that, shaking it, "No," but doesn't elaborate, so Edward, furrowing his brows now as he examines what he can see of her, moves to clarify. "Younger?" he asks, wincing at the regret in his tone and hoping this girl doesn't notice it, prepared to drop his lightly-touching hands instantly at the head nod he's dreading will come.

But she doesn't nod; she cringes, and starts to pull away from him, and lowers her head so that she's studying her feet while she shakes it back and forth, "No."

Relieved, though knowing he's not out of the woods yet, Edward tightens his hands as she moves to pull away, holding her there. "Older, then," he states, happily, and watches the tiny head nod as one of her hands moves up to wipe a cheek he can't see.

Bending at the knees to try and catch sight of her eyes, Edward asks, tenderly this time, "Bella, I know we just met, but why in the world are you upset that you are older than fifteen? Personally, I'm really happy about that. I'd kind of like it if you were twenty, as a matter of fact."

Bella lifts her head in surprise so quickly Edward has to move his back a little so as not to bump heads; she doesn't notice and just says, awed, "You would?"

Smiling, Edward assures her, "Yes, I really would. How old _are_ you, sweetheart?"

This time, Bella can answer, and she does. "I'm nineteen; I'll be twenty in September." But as soon as it is out, she blushes again and drops her head once more.

Edward is unspeakably relieved, and in the joy of that moment, he spontaneously invades her space again. Reaching a hand out, he finds her chin and lifts it up, dragging her eyes up to meet his own. "That's good news, Bella," he says softly, watching for her reaction.

He gets a beautiful blush and a little tearing around her eyes before she looks away and he lets his hand fall, her chin lowering with it. She speaks as her head lowers, so that Edward only catches "I'm so sorry…" before her voice fades away.

"What was that?" he asks the now bent head.

Instead of answering, the head just bends farther.

For the first time, Edward's hands move behind Bella. As they encircle the girl around the small of her back, both Edward and Bella exhale deeply in a contented sigh. Bella's head dips so close into Edward's chest she brushes it before jerking back again.

But Edward feels it, and takes it as confirmation of what he has been suspecting, that this unexpected girl in an unlikely place feels as drawn to him as he does to her. Testing this, he gingerly removes one arm from around her waist and rests his hand against the back of the girl's—Bella's—head, gradually adding weight to it until it is pushing her head against his chest and holding it there. He counts 1-2-3, and just as he is about to withdraw his hand, he feels her neck and shoulders and even torso give way as her head and body descend more fully into him.

He knows this is from desire not mere muscle fatigue as he feels the hugely satisfied sigh Bella exhales when her body makes more extensive contact with his own, and he definitely feels the little head nuzzle she can't keep herself from doing as she receives the welcome pressure that lets her finally—finally!—do what her instincts have been crying for since they encountered this mysterious man in this everyday place.

Edward's in control now; knowing he's dealing with an adult woman who is reciprocally attracted to him frees his more educated and experienced instincts to satisfy himself and her. So his arm around her waist grows a little heavier, the hand at her hip more possessive, the hand against her head more affectionate as it starts stroking down her hair, over and over.

After several sublime moments, the background noise of the waterpark comes back in to Edward's consciousness, and he hears a harried mother asking him from behind, "Excuse me, were you done with this chair?"

Feeling not one bit of remorse, Edward looks back over his shoulder and replies, "No, I'm sorry, we just got here," and having defended his turf for the girl in his arms, he says down to her ear that isn't hiding against him, "Sweetheart, we'd better sit or we'll lose this spot."

Getting no response and expecting none, Edward simply moves back to the chair and drops down into it, pulling the girl with him. As soon as they're both seated, with him reclined against the back, his arms still heavy around her, the girl pulls up her legs and curls into herself against him, making her body as small as possible within his embrace.

Edward disentangles one of her arms from the bag she was carrying, setting it to the side, and retrieves her towel which was wedged between them, draping it over the curled form of the girl. She responds to this thoughtfulness with another head nuzzle, and a tightening of the small circle she's made of herself.

Edward is now stroking down her side with one hand over the towel, the other arm still cinching round her waist and now catching his hand under one of her knees. He thrills at the intimacy of the contact there, his thumb moving back and forth on the naked skin of her upper leg, moving up the inside of her thigh with each round though he gets no farther than an inch or two above her knee.

She relaxes into him as if she is utterly unconcerned about his thumb explorations, though it is more accurate to say she is drunk on the smell of him and the feel of his cotton t-shirt over his firm pectoral muscles against her cheek and therefore lost to all other sensation. As a matter of fact, she becomes so insensate that she slides over the threshold into sleep faster than Edward can quite believe.

Edward is staring contentedly, if also bemusedly, down at the brown head peeking out of the towel, watching the towel over the sleeping girl move slightly but regularly, up and down, out of the corner of his eye, when an aggressive voice makes him look up. There, towering over Edward-and-Bella's chaise lounge, is an angry-looking young man with shoulder-length black hair and piercing brown eyes.

"What the hell are you doing with that towel?" Then spying Bella's bag to the side of the chair as he's getting closer, he adds, "And that bag?"

As he's asking, he's still drawing closer, and finally notices the Bella-shaped lump on Edward's body and the Bella-colored brown hair sticking out of the towel.

Tilting his head, his brows drawn together, he eyeballs Edward and spits, "Tell me my girl isn't under that towel, before I punch your teeth out."

"Your girl?" Edward asks, seeming unconcerned though he is calculating in his head how best to put some space between himself and the angry cretin to his side—without relinquishing Bella. She clearly deserves better than the specimen displaying himself in so crude a manner. "Do you mean Bella is your girlfriend?"

Raising his brows at Edward's casual use of Bella's name, Jacob (for that's who this is) puts his hands on his hips and, dripping with acid, retorts, "And that's your business how?"

"I have what you might call…a growing attachment. I wasn't aware of any romantic relationship preceding my own." Of course, Bella's not told him one thing other than her age, but Edward thinks her hunger to be in his arms tells him all he needs to know about the validity of this person's claims towards her.

Jacob is aware of this logic as well, and it's pissing him off. "I said 'my girl,' not 'my girlfriend,'" he retorts loftily, shrugging his shoulders as if it's nothing to him. Truth is there was a time when he would have almost killed to make Bella his girlfriend, but she didn't seem to understand what he wanted from her so he had given up, and moved on to more willing parties.

But not so much so that he was willing to watch this white pretty boy make off with her, or even make out. He was pretty sure he'd rather cause World War 3 with his current girlfriend Leah and run off this asshole than any other alternative. So he proceeds, as calmly as he can manage, "Either way, she is nothing to you, so I suggest you slide on out of there and leave her alone. Now."

Hearing in her sleep the anger in Jacob's voice, though not fully processing the words, Bella wriggles a little against Edward and pulls the towel down, mumbling, "Edward…tell Jacob it's okay. Tell him you came up the tree."

Though her asleep voice is quiet, it is clearer and less laden with panic than anything Edward's heard from her so far, so he grins at the beauty of it—and also at her use of his name. Parsing apart the meaning, he casts an amused glance at this "Jacob" and asks of Bella's last sentence, "Is that code?"

"No," is the quick, sharp retort back. Jacob is angry, and it shows.

Then he leans in closer to the blanket lump on Edward's lap, being careful to still keep his distance from Edward himself in a distasteful-sort-of-way, and says loudly, "Wake up, Bella!"

Edward responds by tightening his arms around the girl as he shoots Jacob a death glare before pulling the towel up farther around her head as he leans in and whispers, "Shhhh. It's okay; go back to sleep."

In response, Bella "hmmmm's" and rolls over on top of Edward, effectively turning her back on Jacob, and snuggles back in to the best mattress ever to resume the best dream ever, totally lost to the fact of the real-life confrontation occurring above her.

"Who the f- do you think you are?" is Jacob's next commentary, delivered to Edward a little more quietly than his wake-up call to Bella, though not quietly enough to keep several disapproving heads from turning his way and glaring a bit themselves.

Just then, a new voice chimes in from the other side of the chaise lounge—Emmett, Edward's friend and brother-in-law, who was looking to drag Edward away from business for at least a little bit of fun, says light-heartedly but with a strong warning undertone, "Well, I don't know who Eddie thinks he is, but I'm pretty certain he's my brother."

With a grin to his newly-arrived ally and a heart soaring over the demonstration, unwitting as it was, of Bella's trust in him and even preference for him over the hothead (the word he uses thinking about Jacob is "asshole"—they're in agreement on their word choice for each other) trying to take her away, Edward answers matter-of-factly, still quietly in deference to the sleeping girl curled on top of him, "I am Edward Cullen, of Masen Industries. I'm here on business with my family. This is my brother, Emmett. And you are?"

"Here on business…so you're just travelling though. Not staying." The last was much more statement than question; perhaps even threat, and Jacob ignored entirely the request for his own name and circumstances. He continues accusingly, "Have you told Bella that?"

"I haven't felt like we've gotten to the point where I needed to mention that yet," Edward delivers wryly, leaving off that he's only known the girl going on 15 minutes as he doesn't want to undercut his position—both literally and figuratively—towards her.

"She's asleep on your lap. To Bella, that's like…5th base. You're at that point."

Emmett laughs. Quietly. To Edward, "I like this guy."

"Then why don't the two of you go get a beer. My treat," Edward retorts, half-way hoping it might work.

But Jacob's having none of it. Spying a red-suited employee walking their way, summoned by an outraged parent near the conflict, Jacob decides he'd better get reinforcements before making a more physical play to get Bella back. Pointing at Edward, he says, "I'm going to get my crew. We'll be back for Bella in less than 10. I suggest you say your good-byes and leave her here, but that's up to you. If you want your face re-arranged, that's your business."

Just after he's finished, the red suit appears on the scene, saying, a little feebly once she gets a close-up of both Jacob and Emmett, "Is there a problem here?"

Edward looks to her and smiles easily, saying "I'm sorry for the raised voices. My new girlfriend and I are causing a little stress to her old…guy. I think we've worked it out."

Jacob, spluttering at Edward's easy and offensive summary of the situation, merely adds, "This man is a complete stranger and is taking advantage of my little sister. I've given him 10 minutes to leave her alone; then I'll be calling the authorities.

"She's your sister?" the red suit asks, surprised.

"Good as."

"As you can see he's a little jealous. But regardless, the girl in question is 19. She's choosing to be with me right now, so there's really nothing to intervene over. I think if we just give him a couple minutes, he'll figure that out for himself. I'm sure he won't make any more disturbing noise for the people around us."

Flustered, Jacob can't think of an adequate retort before the employee says, "That's good; I'd hate to have to throw anybody out of here." The words would have been more threatening if she'd been able to make eye contact with any of them.

Emmett chimes in, "I'm sure that won't be necessary. I'm just going to buy my new buddy Jacob here a beer. Right Eddie-boy?"

Wincing at the hated nickname, Edward nonetheless angles his wallet out, pulls out $40, and agrees. "Right, Emmett."

Jacob, bested for the moment and beyond frustrated with himself, just says, "Whatever," and turns on his heels and walks away, earning Edward's permanent derision. He knows he would never have abandoned Bella to another under any circumstances, and ceases to be remotely concerned about Jacob and whatever he has to say about Bella.

Emmett watches Jacob leave before pocketing the $40, pulling a chair up next to Edward and sitting down, looking forward to an exciting interlude in what had been a rather boring roadtrip up until now.


End file.
